


Partners for better or for worse

by S_V



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Sticky Sex, dubcon, no isn't taken for an answer, random original insecticon character made only for porn purposes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4178064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_V/pseuds/S_V
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knockout is paired up with a new partner - an Insecticon. Needless to say, he isn't pleased. And things only get worse when he finds out that Insecticons apparently have another understanding of just what it entails to be "partners"...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partners for better or for worse

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless porn from my side. I just have a huge thing for Knockout and the Insecticons, and I can't help but think that in the show when Megatron pairs them up, the Insecticons will read more into it. This was written on the encouragement from a friend, and if its well received, I might write more.
> 
> I have no beta reader, and English isn't my native language, so if you spot any mistakes, please bear with me and inform me so I can fix them!

Knockout wasn't happy. Actually, saying that he wasn't happy was putting it lightly. He was beyond pissed. He might be a medic, but he could hold his own in a battle! Yet apparently, his lord put so little trust in him that he had given him a bodyguard. A _bodyguard_. And he even had the audacity to call it a 'partner'! Now, Knockout _could_ have been flattered by the fact that his lord considered him important enough to award with a personal guard, if it hadn't been for the fact that said guard? Was an Insecticon.

Really? Did his lord think so lowly of him that he paired him up with a mindless beast like that? _The audacity_. And after he had lost Breakdown! That was just plain insulting, leaving the medic angrily marching from the bridge. It didn't make it any better that his new so-called partner was lumbering after him, and... What was that? Pausing for a klik in his stomping, Knockout tilted his helm to the side. Yes, the creature was actually _chittering_ as it followed him.

That just made his mood worse, and instead of going back to his medbay, he went straight for his private quarters. _No_ , he wasn't going to sulk, he was going to take some recreation time to himself. He was hoping the beast would take the hint and leave him alone, but of course, he had no such luck. The large Insecticon followed him blindly in a way that briefly reminded him of Breakdown and sent a painful stab through his spark before he dismissed it. His old partner was gone, offlined, and the millions of years they had worked together were only memories now. He was pretty sure lord Megatron was doing this to him on purpose after Knockout had lost it when he learned that Breakdown had been offlined by Airachnid. Granted, thinking back, he could have handled it better than yelling at his lord and threatening to defect – Knockout was pretty certain this was lord Megatron's way of punishing him for those rash words.

Turning in his door, he placed both of his servos in his sides, glaring at the optical band of the much larger creature trudging after him. He had perfected this stance - servos on his hips which were cocked slightly to the side - to be dismissive and discourage anyone trying anything; whether that was flirting, fighting, or in this case, following.

“What? What do you want?” He demanded, voice sharp as he absolutely refused to become intimidated by the much larger drone hunkering above him. The Insecticon tilted its helm to the side, mandibles moving as if it was tasting the air in a movement that was animalistic and alien to Knockout. He fought down the urge to shiver, and instead stood his ground – he was fairly certain the creature would soon grow bored of him and back off. As it turned out, he was wrong.

“We are parrrtners now.” The Insecticon informed him, making Knockout blink his optics a few times in surprise. It spoke? Or, _he_ spoke – the voice had definitely been male. It was deep and raspy, yet somehow managed to have a purring quality and dragging out certain words. He hadn't been expecting that. He knew Hardshell spoke, yes, but Knockout had more or less assumed that was what made him the leader of the rest of the Insecticons, their literal spokesperson. Could all of them speak, did they merely choose not to?

That was something he would have to find out, but later. Knockout didn't have much contact with the Insecticons, nor did anyone else – they kept to the parts of the Nemesis which had been assigned them, and after the first few scrapes between them and the Vehicons, both parts had learned to simply ignore each other. The Insecticons kept to themselves, always had, living in their own Hive with their own infrastructure, and seeming content to do so. Knockout realized that he actually knew very little of them – they didn't even come to him for treatment, instead licking their wounds and tending to them like beasts would.

“I... Yes, yes we are partners now. What is your designation?” At least he could attempt to be polite, his posture thawing as one servo fell from his hips. The Insecticon practically purred at his confirmation, adjusting his own stance and leaning a little closer, invading Knockout's personal bubble. Primus, the way his mandibles moved unsettled Knockout – it was like he was constantly smelling the air around the medic, like he was tasting it. Could he possibly be looking for something? Knockout had the faint notion that the Insecticon's senses were stronger than his own, but he didn't know if it was correct, or just an assumption about the subspecies because they were so... beast-like. Maybe he was just familiarizing himself with the scent of his new partner, like some oversized pet.

“Wingshield. I am one of the strrrongest of the Hive.” And that was definitely pride Knockout detected in the other's rumbling voice. One of the strongest? Well, wasn't that nice for him. Knockout had no idea if he was supposed to be impressed by this or not, and simply reacted by raising an optical ridge delicately.

“Good to know, Wingshield. I'm sure our partnership will be most fruitful. Now, I think I will head to berth. Good night.” Nodding his helm in what he himself considered a polite dismissal, Knockout turned and walked into his room. Apparently, Wingshield took it another way, because the large Insecticon followed him. _Followed_ him. Into his _room_. That was crossing a line; Knockout appreciated his privacy, thank you very much. Fighting the urge to snap at the other, he instead turned once more, servos traveling back to place themselves on his hips in an expression of disapproval.

“Wingshield... What do you think you're doing? Don't you have something else to take care of?” Something _besides_ following Knockout around like some lost wire-puppy? His question seemed to confuse the Insecticon, who merely tilted his helm before lumbering closer to Knockout, coming so close that his secondary set of arms could slide gently down the medic's front. Knockout frowned and took a step back. By the Pit, this beast had no sense of personal space whatsoever.

“We arrre partners. You said so, yourrrrself.” Wingshield stated, voice uncomprehending, and Knockout had to fight the urge to roll his optics. Did the Insecticon think that meant they were going to be bunk-buddies, as well? He supposed it made a certain amount of sense, Wingshield coming from a large Hive with close relations. But Knockout had no intentions of sharing a room with him. Obviously, some basic rules needed to be put down. First of all: just because they were partners didn't mean they should spend each and every klik in each other's company. Rule number two: Knockout needed his privacy to feel sorry for himself, and he needed it _now_.

“That is correct, yes. That does not explain why you followed me into my _private_ room.” There. That was a polite way of telling him to frag off, and to kindly do so _five kliks ago_. The obvious hint seemed to pass Wingshield by completely, though – he only gave a chirrup, helm tilting to one side before he stepped forwards, primary arms skittering down Knockout's back while his secondary set once more touched his chest.

_Ugh_ . Really? Did the beast want a pat on the helm or something? Obviously he was used to closer contact than Knockout; the medic had witnessed the way Insecticons seemed to communicate amongst themselves using mainly touches and small calls. He supposed he would just have to teach Wingshield that he was not an Insecticon, and didn't want to be treated like one. That meant respecting his personal space, and not constantly try to touch him.

Once more, Knockout stepped back, though this time, he pushed the servos on his chest to one side, sending Wingshield an annoyed look. He wasn't in the mood for whatever this was – it seemed to him the other wanted a hug, but was too shy to ask. Well, too bad. Knockout was not dealing with this right now. The large Insecticon gave another chirr, mandibles increasing their movements as he seemingly tried taking in the situation from the scent of the room. Apparently, he decided to change his approach.

“You are very prrrretty. I'm lucky to get such a pretty parrrtner.” He purred, reaching out more carefully now to skitter his claws along Knockout's shoulder strut. It would seem the light slap had made him more vary, his movements more hesitant now. Good, that was as it should be, then. Still, Knockout allowed the touch for the moment, if nothing else then as a reward for the compliment. Stroking his ego was always a sure way to get on his good side, after all. Giving a shrug and what was supposed to be a modest smirk but most certainly wasn't, Knockout relaxed a little.

“Why thank you, I know I am. And yes, you are quite lucky, aren't you?” Doing his best to turn the atmosphere from awkward to friendly, Knockout rolled his optics a bit. “And I suppose I'm lucky to get you if you're one of the strongest members of the Hive. Meaning we're both truly blessed by this partnership. Now, if you wouldn't mind...” There; he had been polite, and they had established things. Stepping away from Wingshield, Knockout sent him a pointed look, waiting for him to leave. Wingshield didn't seem to get it, instead giving a series of low chirps and clicks, hesitantly following Knockout and seeking to close the distance between them once again.

That did it. Making a face, Knockout placed one servo flat against the Insecticon's chest in a gesture clearly signaling for him to back off. What was even with him being so... _touchy?_ Knockout didn't approve of that; people weren't allowed to touch him, not without his permission. Not to mention, Wingshield was large and clumsily built, and his claws where huge – Knockout shuddered thinking about what they could do to his paintjob.

“That's enough of that. Return to your... wherever you want to be.” That was a clear dismissal, Knockout following his words with a stern look. Wingshield gave a confused chirr, looking down at the delicate servo against his chassis before his optical band focused on Knockout's face once more.

“But I want to be herrre? With my partnerrr?” Apparently, he was just as confused as Knockout, though he seemed to have a strong resolve. Chirruping lightly, he leaned over the smaller medic, nudging him and nuzzling their helms gently together. Knockout froze with a low sound as the other's mandibles caressed his pristine faceplate, expression pulling into a mixture of confusion and distaste. He hadn't even noticed Wingshield had once more wrapped his primary arms around him before they stopped his retreat as he attempted to step back.

The slag?! With the way Wingshield was leaning over him, his arms encompassing him, Knockout almost felt like he was being wrapped up in the other, swallowed by his massive frame. He did not like that, and he certainly did _not_ have patience for that right now.

“Wingshield, _enough_. Back off, leave me alone.” That should be clear as day. The Insecticon did stop, though he didn't step away like Knockout had demanded. Instead, he rumbled thoughtfully, mandibles moving slightly as his optical band glowed. Then he let his gaze roam over Knockout, seeming slightly confused. He didn't loosen his arms though, the strong grip holding Knockout close enough to leave the medic with no hopes of escaping.

“But lorrrd Megatron said you werrre my partner? _You_ said so?” Yes, he was obviously confused. Knockout rolled his optics and squirmed a bit before giving up. The other's arms were broad and unyielding, and writhing got him absolutely nowhere except making him risk scratching his paintjob. Since he didn't have room to place his servos in his sides, Knockout let the other join his first, pushing against the Insecticon's chassis to clearly tell him that Knockout wanted him to step back, and that he wanted it _now_.

“Yes, I have been assigned to be your partner. I fail to see what that has to do with you invading my privacy like this. Please, let go of me.” His answer seemed to have a very different effect than what he had intended. Seeming relieved, like that had explained everything, Wingshield gave a low warble, once more leaning in to nuzzle him, his mandibles lightly moving along Knockout's neck and catching in the seat belts there. That seemed to puzzle the Insecticon, and he gently tugged, forcing Knockout to lean forwards, as if he had been on a leash. Discomfort slowly turning into anger, the medic shoved the other's chest, harder and more insistent this time.

“Cease that! I said to let go of me!” He hissed, venom slowly sneaking its way into his voice. Wingshield gave a low chirr that sounded almost regretful, leaning away and removing his mandibles from Knockout's personal space, much to the medic's relief. His arms stayed around him, though, while his secondary and smaller arms moved so he could grasp Knockout's servos. Knockout frowned and put up a brief fight as his hands were captured, but there wasn't really much he could do. The other was much stronger than him, and while his pushing had earned Knockout very little to begin with, it had at least expressed him being discontent with the situation. Now, he couldn't even do that anymore.

“It's okay. Most parrrtners are unwilling. I promise I won't hurrrt you. You are very prrretty, I'm very lucky. I won't harrrm you.” It seemed Wingshield was hoping that paying Knockout compliments would have the same positive effects as it had had earlier. No such luck. Knockout was beginning to get seriously angry, and beneath that, concerned. Fact was, he was effectively trapped against the chassis of a mech much larger than him – his servos were secured by his sides, a pair of strong arms ensured he wasn't going anywhere, and Wingshield was still leaning in way too close for comfort.

Not to mention that his words were more than a little unsettling. What did he even mean? He was supposed to be Knockout's bodyguard, of _course_ he wasn't allowed to hurt him! He had even said he was lucky to get that job, that he appreciated it, and that Knockout was pretty. Though, the medic did have some trouble seeing where the part of his own looks fit into everything else...

“What are you going on about? Wingshield, release me this instant! That's enough!” The sense that something was fundamentally wrong was slowly but surely creeping up on Knockout, making a feeling of dread spread in his spark. What did he mean, ' _unwilling_ ' _._..?

Then it hit him, and he stiffened, optics going wide. No way. Wingshield couldn't be thinking about them as being partners in _that_ way, could he...? Oh no. No no _no._ That was completely out of the question! Was that why he was all over Knockout?! And the comment about unwilling partners still haunted Knockout, stirring nervousness and fear from the darker corners of his mind.

“Wingshield, we're just working together, nothing more. Now let go of me. I don't know what you're thinking, but you've got the wrong idea.” Tugging at his servos to free them from where the other's large claws had wrapped around his wrists, Knockout began to feel a little panicked. Still, it was all just a misunderstanding. He knew he was desirable, but surely, he just needed to clear things up. Yes, it might get a bit awkward from now on, but honestly, he would take that over this situation any day.

Wingshield still seemed hesitant, helm tilted as his mandibles gently moved, optical band dimming as he seemingly thought things over. Then, to Knockout's horror, he drew the medic a bit closer, leaning in to nuzzle against the side of his neck.

“You... said we were partners, yourrrself. Lord Megatrrron said so, too. I'll be careful. You deserrrve a good partner, and I promise I will be. _Verrry_ good.” Oh great, did he honestly think Knockout's problem with this was that he didn't think Wingshield could impress him in berth? Didn't he stop to consider that Knockout didn't even _want_ to take things to the berth-level?!

Knockout pulled his helm back, wanting to scream at him that 'partner' didn't necessarily equal 'mate', and that Wingshield should back off _right this instant_. Clearly, this was all a big misunderstanding, based on social and cultural differences. The notion that Megatron might have known about this only served to make Knockout more furious, but he dared not jump to conclusions. Especially not when he was still held tightly in Wingshield's arms. He would have to deal with _that_ situation first.

“Wingshield, no. We're going to be working together, that's all. We're not mates.” And then, because he couldn't control his own nervousness, he hesitantly bit his lower lip plate. “What... did you mean, 'most partners are unwilling'...?” He didn't even know if asking was a good idea, or if it would be seen as consent from the Insecticon's side. But Knockout needed to know, if nothing else than to make it clear that he himself wasn't just 'unwilling', he was dead set against it.

Wingshield chittered, mandibles working and slowly running over Knockout's cheek plates and neck cables in a way almost resembling petting. His optical visor pulsed in warm hues before the light faded a bit, a trait Knockout had already learned meant that his companion was thinking. The medic could only hope he would come to the logical conclusion Knockout himself had already seen, and release him.

“In fights... The loserrr is mated. As a sign of... dominance?” He sounded slightly unsure, as if he wasn't entirely certain how to explain the inner workings of the Hive to an outsider. Knockout stiffened further, expression pulling into one of horror. He of course knew that certain civilizations used such barbaric methods to determine their superiority, but he had never thought that he himself would get involved in anything even resembling that. Slag, he _wasn't_ about to get involved with that! That was terrifying!

Apparently sensing the horror washing over the smaller mech's field, Wingshield purred and produced a low warble, emanating from deep within his chest and rattling his armor. The sound was probably meant to be soothing, but it was so new and alien to Knockout that it had the exact opposite effects, scaring him further. It might be an interesting subject for objective studies, but he was slightly biased right now, seeing as he was still being held tight against an Insecticon who read way too much into the word 'partners'.

“I won't fight you. No need to. I won't hurrrt you, it won't be like that. You're a very prrretty partner.” Wingshield quickly assured, nudging Knockout gently with his own helm. Knockout didn't even pull away from the touch this time, looking at the much larger Insecticon with huge optics.

“You have got to be kidding me...” Was this... this _beast_ telling him that their species only mated through rape? In that case, what did he even know about proper interface, about giving pleasure and taking care of his partner?! Pits no. This was _so_ not going to happen. Narrowing his optics, he very decidedly lifted a pede, then stomped it heavily down on one of Wingshield's much larger ones, making it clear just where he stood in this.

“Now you listen here, I am _not_ going to let you touch me, this isn't going to happen! I'm sorry if you've been given the wrong idea, but this isn't how things work around here! Now let _go!_ ” Squirming, he once more attempted to free his wrists. He could just as well have been stepping on a rock, Wingshield not even flinching, and only tilting his helm to the side as his optical band focused on Knockout.

“That is how things worrrk in Hive? Should I take you to Hive?” If Knockout had had his servos free, this would normally be the time where he groaned in self pity and buried his face in them. They weren't free, however, and neither was he. So he settled for a glare, putting as much toxicity into it as he could manage.

“ _No_ , Wingshield, you shouldn't take me to your Hive. What you _should_ do is let go of me and get it into your processor that we are only colleagues, not... not _mates_!” He wasn't happy about using that word, afraid it might give the Insecticon ideas. On the other servo, Wingshield already seemed to _have_ ideas, and plenty of them. Knockout assumed he had nothing to lose.

His words earned him another thoughtful chirr, the large Insecticon seeming to mull over everything he had said, occasionally glancing down at the furious red medic in his arms. Knockout made a determined face, keeping his back straight and doing his best to use said anger to hide his quickly growing sense of dread.

He knew he was handsome, slag, he took great care to stay that way. He, in contrast to many others, actually cared about his finish, thank you very much. He also knew that this made him desirable to many, and was aware of the glances following him whenever he went somewhere. Pits, if he was in a good mood, he'd even sway his hips a bit more than usual, just in their honor. For some reason though, he had never stopped to think that the Insecticons might share this interest in him.

They isolated themselves in their Hive, seeming perfectly content in the lower halls of the Nemesis they had been given. The only interest they had shown in the rest of the crew had been when the Vehicons badmouthed them, which had resulted in fights. Knockout himself had more than once been forced to attempt to break up one of those, getting a good handful of scratches in the process.

He even recalled nagging at the Insecticons who had dealt those – the Vehicons hadn't been online to yell at after having their skidplates kicked, so he had taken it out on the Insecticons present. Even while their helms had been bowed in what at first glance appeared to be submission, their optical bands had glowed with intensity, and they had chittered softly among themselves. It had unsettled him then, as it unsettled him now – Knockout had no idea how to read the Insecticons. They had none of the signs and tells regular drones had, betraying what was going on in their processor. That meant Knockout had no idea how to handle them. And it was unsettling, especially now where he found himself scrutinized by Wingshield while being held tightly against the other's chest.

“No need to be unwilling... I prrromised not to harm you. It won't be like that.” Obviously, he had picked up on Knockout's horror when he mentioned the whole ' _dominating through forcing yourself on your partner_ ' deal. And it seemed he was convinced that if he could make Knockout believe that it wouldn't be like that, everything else would be just fine and dandy. Knockout hardly agreed.

“' _Not like that'_?! You just told me your subspecies _rape_ each other!” If he could, he would have waved his servos in the air for emphasis. Just after having used them to push away from Wingshield, that was. As it was, he just gave a squirm, sending the other a furious look. Much to his surprise, Wingshield actually seemed... relieved? His optical band lightened a bit, his posture changing as he gave a soft chirrup.

“Not always. Just in fights forrr dominance. I won't hurt you, you're my pretty parrrtner.” Nuzzling the side of Knockout's helm in an attempt to coax him to loosen up a bit, Wingshield smiled at him. At least, Knockout assumed this was his version of a smile – his mandibles vibrated slightly, his optical band lighting up. He didn't have a faceplate like Knockout, neither did he have lip components, so it was tricky to tell. Still, it seemed obvious that he hoped to clear up the little misunderstanding so they could move on. If Knockout hadn't been so horrified, he might actually have felt bad for him, but as it was, he just made a low and furious sound.

“Absolutely not! The answer is no, Wingshield!” His words got him the opposite reaction of what he had wanted. Instead of letting go and backing up, Wingshield tightened his grip and stepped closer. His secondary arms still held onto Knockout's wrist, locking the medics own arms in place at his sides. Attempting to actually fight to get free would result in giving himself a serious injury, as well – transforming his servo to a sawblade or drill right now would have the weapons cut into his leg, and if he was unlucky, he'd hit a major energonline, and would end up making himself bleed out. He couldn't afford running that risk, especially now that Breakdown wasn't around anymore to help patch him up. Knockout was the only doctor left, meaning there was no one to treat him should _he_ get injured. Slag, that had been the reason he had been given a bodyguard to start with!

“I'll convince you otherrrwise.” Now Wingshield sounded confident, satisfaction that he had found a solution to their problem obvious in his deep voice. Except to Knockout, that was _not_ an acceptable solution. Not at all. Hissing, he squirmed, moving his head to the side when Wingshield returned his attention to the cables along his throat.

Normally, Knockout would have enjoyed that. It was no secret that his neck was sensitive, and he loved having his partners worshiping the white arch of his throat when he threw his helm back. Especially his seat belts were a sweet spot – not the belts themselves, mind you, but having them tugged and the sensitive metal beneath them stroked always got his engine purring. Well, almost always.

The feeling of Wingshield's mandibles was new and unsettling. He was used to digits, to soft lip plates delivering kisses, maybe a swipe of a glossa. This didn't even feel like fingers, the strangely coordinated way they moved and skittered along the white metal feeling strange to him. He couldn't get over how alien the sensation was to even begin considering enjoying himself.

“Wingshield! Stop that at once! That's- _ah!_ Do _not_ do that again!” He could have saved his breath – as soon as Knockout made the tiny exclamation, Wingshield's EM field practically buzzed, picking up with energy and triumph. The action that had gotten said reaction had been when he had tugged at a seat belt, the larger primary mandible catching it easily and pulling it away so the more supple set of secondary mandibles could feel over the metal behind it. And of course, despite Knockout's protests, he repeated it, experimentally tugging at the seat belt. When Knockout was involuntarily dragged closer, he gave a deep rumble, the sound satisfied, and Primus below, amused. _He actually found this amusing._

Doing his best to at least free his neck, Knockout sent Wingshield a furious glare. One thing was the fact that the beast didn't seem to have any problems doing what was essentially rape, he also had the nerve to laugh about Knockout's frame?! How _dared_ he! It was quite possible that according to whatever logic lay behind his culture, this didn't count as rape, and was entirely okay, but Knockout didn't think ridiculing anyone's frame was alright. For _anyone_. He sure as slag wouldn't accept it.

“You do _not_ laugh at me! There is nothing _funny_ about my frame, it's especially designed down to every single little detail. It's perfect! Don't you dare!” Wingshield drew a bit back, releasing the belt with a low chirr. His expression seemed careful, as did the field carefully brushing over Knockout's plating, but beneath that, he could sense an underlying sense of... what was that? Victory? Surely not. Knockout hadn't given in or accepted anything, thank you very much. He was just making the rules of the game clear.

“It is. Everything is perrrfect. So pretty~” Practically cooing the words, Wingshield very cautiously moved one of the primary arms locked around Knockout's chassis, ghosting it along the seam between his wheelstruts before moving to ever so carefully spin one of his wheels, itself. The awe and wonder was clear in his movements, so careful and different from the promised rape.

“And I intend to keep it that way! That means no touching, and certainly no- no _raping_!” To be honest, Knockout didn't mind the touching of his wheels. They weren't an erogenous zone, far from it, they weren't even that sensitive. It wouldn't make sense if they were – how would he drive, then? He wouldn't be able to get through a race without overloading. But having them spun like that did remind him of driving, which calmed him; not unlike a massage could calm some. Wingshield warbled softly, continuing to curiously spin the wheel, seeming more than content at taking his time exploring Knockout's oh so different frame.

“I'm not going to harrrm you, I promised. No hurt. Just rrrelax and enjoy it?” Voice turning slightly hopeful, Wingshield leaned forwards. He couldn't kiss Knockout, seeing as he had no lip plates, but he did press their intakes together, his primary mandibles briefly moving as if searching for a similar pair to hook with. When they found none, they instead rather awkwardly cupped Knockout's face, keeping it where it was. The whole experience honestly just felt weird, only serving to strengthen the fact that everything was alien and new. Knockout wasn't sure he approved of it, and he most certainly didn't buy Wingshield's words.

Talking while having a set of sharp denta pressed against your own soft lip components wasn't what he would consider a good time, though, and so he just gave a muffled sound, trying to pull his helm back. The primary mandibles grasping at his faceplate made that impossible, locking him in place unless he was willing to gouge deep scratches into his own face in order to escape. He would rather not.

Then he felt _something_ prodding at his lips, and gasped. He hadn't even realized when Wingshield had parted his own maws, but now, he was slowly licking a trail over Knockout's lower lip plate. The sensation wasn't unlike that from a normal glossa, and yet, entirely different, making Knockout draw in a quick vent. Wingshield took the opportunity to deepen whatever version of a kiss this was.

Knockout widened his optics when the other's glossa invaded his intake, growing so shocked that he didn't even consider biting down. Wingshield's glossa wasn't flat like he was used to – on the contrary, it was round, smooth, and surprisingly strong as it brushed against his own. And the taste... It was oddly sweet, but with a hint of something deeper, something Knockout could only guess was the taste of Wingshield himself.

He didn't even realize that he had been standing there numbly, letting himself be - 'violated' was the only word he could think of – before the Insecticon pulled away, warbling and rumbling deep in his chest as he pressed it against Knockout's own chassis.

“See? No harrrm.” He chirped the words, sounding very happy with himself, and Knockout realized he probably took the smaller medics stare as him being... what, awed? That was far from the case – it was closer to Knockout trying to wrap his processor around what had just happened to him. At the other's words, though, he snapped out of it.

“There is a huge difference! One thing is this...” He once more attempted to wave a servo, only to find Wingshield's grip unrelenting. Instead, he rolled his optics to underline his words. “-this _kiss_. Another is pleasure and the deed itself! You said your kind rape each other, I want no part of that!” Though, if it was rape, it didn't matter what he wanted, he supposed. As a matter of fact, resisting would only make it, well... more rape like. _Slag_. This wasn't a good situation at all.

Chittering, Wingshield leaned over him once more, swiping that odd glossa along the edge of his jaw before ever so carefully using his sharp denta to nibble at the same spot. Knockout froze immediately, all too aware of the proximity to his throat and several major energon lines and circuits. No doubt one bite from those strong jaws would be enough to kill him, quite possibly tear his helm clean off his shoulders.

The gesture wasn't threatening, though. And judging from the field pushing against his own, which Knockout had drawn in tight around his own plating, Wingshield mainly seemed relieved once more. The soft nibbling just seemed meant to calm him.

“Not always... We don't always forrrce submission. Only in battles. We have dominant nature, ourrr kind are soldiers. None of us likes submitting. Thereforrre, we are unwilling partners forrr mating. We don't treat a willing partner that way, though. No harrrm to those.” He assured in between soft bites and licks, the servos around Knockout's wrists gently squeezing, as if to coax him into understanding. The other servo from his free primary arm had gone from spinning his wheels to carefully tracing their struts, movements slow and deliberate. Knockout gave a heavy huff from his vents, turning his face away from the attention lavished on it to instead send Wingshield a suspicious look.

“Really...? And how many willing partners do your Hive have?” He wasn't buying that, not just yet. Though, he couldn't deny that the Insecticons' explanation made sense, and was oddly calming. After all, he himself had witnessed the Insecticons when someone insulted them, and he had treated the Vehicons foolish enough to do so. They were definitely proud – it made sense none of them wished to play the submissive part of interfacing.

Still, Knockout was far from ready to relax, and he was acutely aware of the grasp on his wrists. Should Wingshield slacken it just a bit, he would tear his servos loose and push away from the other. He had no such luck. Apparently, the Insecticon really _was_ used to dealing with unwilling partners, because his claws still felt like they were welded in place around Knockout, not budging the slightest even as his mind was clearly focused on other things.

Pulling his helm back in a motion of regret, Wingshield chittered softly, large shoulders dropping a bit. He kept up the gentle nuzzling along Knockout's back, though, heavy claws scraping ever so carefully along lines and seams in red plating.

“Not many willing partnerrrs. A few likes it because of being sparrrkmates, they have reason to. But we have no Queen. So only unwilling partnerrrs and dominance.” Sounding sad, he gave a strange sigh, the sound filled with low warbles and clicks. Knockout carefully thought his words over.

It made sense that those who found their sparkmate wouldn't mind submitting to their bonded. After all, a sparkbond formed a powerful link between two sparks – if you didn't trust anyone completely, bonding would be out of the question. So between sparkmates, it wouldn't be a problem. But those were few among Cybertronians, and the way Wingshield phrased himself made it sound like they were even more rare in the Insecticon subspecies. That still left the majority of the Hive with no experience in how to do anything but their odd little dominance ritual. Knockout had already decided he wanted no part of _that_ , thank you very much.

On the other servo, Wingshield wasn't doing anything right now. Even the servo on his back had stopped moving as he carefully looked down at Knockout, the entire way he held his frame radiating hopefulness. It was clear he was hoping the medic would change his mind about things. Now the real question was this: would Knockout?

Pursing his lips, he thought it over carefully. First of, he was pretty certain that if he outright said no, Wingshield would take him by force. He had seemed prepared to do so earlier, and he had made it clear it was something he had done before. Primus, that was an unsettling thought – how many had he subdued to earn himself the title of one of the strongest of the Hive? Better not think about _that_.

So plainly saying no was out of the question, then. The Insecticon was easily twice as large as Knockout, and that wasn't even considering his girth and mass. Knockout could stand his ground in a fight, yes, but up close with one of these beasts? He wouldn't stand a chance. Wingshield would have him overpowered before he even had a single opportunity to defend himself. Right, so that wasn't an option, either.

And, Knockout had to admit, after Wingshield had at least explained things, he didn't feel outright threatened anymore, certainly not enough to consider fighting the other. Slag, he would even admit that a part of him was beginning to become intrigued. But he was also very aware of the fact that he had no idea what sort of interface equipment Insecticons were packing, and of the sheer size of his new partner. He was wary. Meaning that for now, he would dodge the subject and sneak his way out of the situation.

Doing so should be simple enough – just tell Wingshield that some day in the future, they could talk more about it, and then move along with his life. If he was lucky, he could keep things in that standstill, at least until he got his processor wrapped around everything, and learned everything he would need to know. Then he could find a permanent way out of things. And hey, if he could get over the fact that the Insecticon's frame was so alien, maybe he would actually be willing to try?

Coming to that decision, he shot Wingshield a look, tilting his helm to one side as he raised a single optical ridge.

“... You better not treat me like one of those defeated partners, then.” He sniffed, keeping his voice court. Wingshield gave a low and excited purr, rumbling through the chest pressed against Knockout's and slightly shaking the medic in his chassis. Slowly, it turned into a more devoted and softer sound, like a mixture of a terrifying growl and an affectionate coo. It almost sounded like an odd sort of singing. Knockout barely had time to raise his other optical ridge, wondering if he had made some sort of mistake. Then he was being pulled closer, Wingshield nuzzling him.

“Prrromise.” He purred, sounding way too happy with the situation. Opening his mouth to insist that now that _that_ had been resolved, Knockout would like for Wingshield to leave so he could be alone, the medic instead gave a muffled sound of surprise. Wingshield had once more pressed that odd version of a kiss to his mouth, sharp denta pressing against his lip plates as his mandibles moved, stroking soft touches over Knockout's face plate.

That... hadn't been part of his plan. But he supposed he could play nice for now. He would think of it as a way of sealing the deal, of assuring Wingshield that things were alright so the large Insecticon wouldn't see it necessary to force himself on Knockout. He really wasn't interested in that.

So, very hesitantly, he attempted to kiss back. Not like there was much he could do, really – he was acutely aware of Wingshield's pointed fangs, the lack of lip plates making the whole thing more than a little tricky. Still, Knockout slowly relaxed, tilting his helm a bit to the side and opening his intake slightly. The reaction he got was almost endearing and certainly stroked his ego.

Producing a happy whirr in the back of his throat, Wingshield took Knockout's silent permission to deepen the kiss, glossa worming it's way into the much smaller oral cavity of the medic in his arms. Knockout made a small sound, pulling his helm just a bit back so he didn't feel so overwhelmed, before slowly returning the odd affections. This was more like what he was used to, and he let his own glossa brush Wingshield's, optics sliding closed as he focused on the feelings.

Yes, it was familiar territory, but what Wingshield brought into it made it seem new and strange, and – he had to admit it – exciting. Honestly, the Insecticon's glossa felt more like a whole appendage in itself, strong and surprisingly limber as it pressed against his own. Wingshield was quick to learn that Knockout was smaller and more frail than anything he had been with before, and adapted to it, allowing the medic to set the pace of the kiss.

When Knockout finally pulled away, his face plate felt slightly hot.

“Well... That was... new. Very new. I suppose I could get used to it, though.” And, for the first time in what felt like forever to him, he gave his trademark smirk. Saying outright that in some odd way, he had enjoyed the kiss very much just wasn't his style. It had been clear in his field, though, and Wingshield had obviously picked up on it, chittering softly as his optical band glowed in his race's version of a smile. Knockout supposed that in a subspecies with mostly unwilling partners, you had to be good at picking up even the most subtle hints – that, and Wingshield seemed to smell the air around the medic, picking up on his mood that way.

“Don't you look so smug.” Knockout huffed, though he still couldn't quite keep from smiling. Wingshield just chirruped, gently nudging their helms together before moving to graze his mandibles along Knockout's throat and down to the vents in his shoulders. The medic promptly shuddered, blowing a gust of hot air over the other's face as said vents hitched.

Those were sensitive, and not necessarily in a good way. Vents were part of the intricate pathways keeping their frames from overheating, but also distributing warmth so no systems short circuited or offlined. They were crucial for any frametype, but especially for those such as Knockout's, built for speed and maneuverability. Point was, he needed them, and it normally took a lot of trust before he allowed anyone to touch them or even get close to them. He assumed Wingshield didn't know any better, and thus refrained from raising his voice, though the did attempt to push him away. Only then did he realize his servos were still being held firmly at his sides.

“Uh, Wingshield? You can release my wrists now.” Gently tugging at his captured servos, Knockout sent the Insecticon a look. Wingshield thoughtfully tilted his helm, mandibles moving as he seemed to think things over, then nodded while producing a low series of clicks. What happened next all went very fast.

Suddenly, Knockout's pedes were no longer touching the floor of his habsuite, and he gave a sharp gasp. Most grounders hated heights, and though he himself had once been a Seeker and as such didn't mind, the speed and unexpectedness of the whole thing took him completely by surprise. Giving a sharp gasp, his optics widened, and he stared at Wingshield who had scooped him up.

“What are you doing?!” Voice a pitch higher than usually, Knockout kicked his legs once, then froze. Did he want to squirm and thus be dropped? No. Primus only knew how many scratches _that_ would leave on his frame. He didn't have time to demand being put down, though, before Wingshield did so on his own accord. Only, he hadn't placed Knockout back on his own two pedes – instead, he had placed him with his back on his berth.

_Oh Primus no..._ His optics widened when Wingshield leaned over him, primary arms on each side of Knockout's shoulders to support his weight while the secondary set ran along the medic's frame. Exploiting that his servos were finally free again, Knockout placed both of them against Wingshield's chest and  _pushed_ ; even though he used his full strength, the Insecticon didn't budge an inch.

No way. His previous horror returning to him, Knockout gave up on moving Wingshield, and instead attempted to push himself away from the drone, to put some much needed distance between them. He didn't want this to happen! He had halfway agreed that maybe, just  _maybe_ , they could be partners in the way Wingshield desired –  _one day far into the future_ . Not now! Knockout wasn't ready for this, he didn't want it, and slag, he had only agreed because it had been the only way out of getting taken against his will. He had been meaning to attempt to find a way out of things, this was the exact opposite!

He wasn't allowed to move himself before one of Wingshield's primary arms moved, effectively pinning him down to keep him where he was. Knockout wasn't even sure if the Insecticon had registered that the small medic had been trying to escape, or if he was merely reacting instinctively. Obviously, his attention was elsewhere – his mandibles were moving, tasting the air, his frame bent over Knockout with admiration filling his field. It was obvious he was thinking highly of the red frame beneath him, his secondary set of claws tracing it in an almost worshiping way, and normally, that would have fueled Knockout's ego. Now though, it only served to make it clear just how strong Wingshield really was – he didn't even  _notice_ Knockout's best efforts at freeing himself.

“What do you think you're doing, get off of me at once! Wingshield, _no!_ I-I didn't agree to this, not now!” Protesting only earned him a low chittering and a nudge with Wingshield's helm, the gesture affectionate in clear contrast to the strength he was effortlessly holding Knockout down with.

“Rrrelax... I won't hurrrt you. Enjoy it?” The fact that he made the last part sound like a question, as if he was going to carry on no matter what, and it was up to Knockout to learn to enjoy it, scared the medic more than he'd like to admit. Gasping, his vents picking up a bit in fear, he shook his helm vigorously, once more pushing fruitlessly against the larger chassis above him.

“No no no, Wingshield, I didn't agree to... To do this! Not now, I-I'm not ready! You said you wouldn't treat me like a defeated partner, doesn't that mean you'll wait for me to be ready?!” Sounding slightly panicked, Knockout heaved a relieved sigh when Wingshield pulled a bit away, looking at him while thoughtfully moving his mandibles. Optical band dimming, he gave a low series of clicks and whirrs, his secondary servos absentmindedly petting over Knockout's shoulderstruts.

“We arrre partners. Partnerrrs must be claimed.” Voice slow, as if he was really trying to make Knockout understand this, Wingshield gave an affectionate rumble, leaning down and nuzzling the medic. “Don't worrry. Not a violent claiming. I will be carrreful.” If he was hoping that would calm Knockout down, he was mistaken. So while he had thought letting Wingshield have that one kiss would be enough to seal the deal, Wingshield wanted to go all the way? And obviously, he wasn't taking no for an answer – slag, it didn't even seem like he understood _why_ Knockout was saying no in the first place. 

So nothing had really changed, had it? It seemed that whether Knockout liked it or not, Wingshield would be taking him as a partner, for better and for worse. _How_ this didn't count as a 'violent claiming' was beyond him – as soon as he had said no and Wingshield didn't stop, it automatically turned into rape, didn't it?

Giving a sharp gasp when Wingshield grabbed his legs and repositioned him, Knockout gave a low hiss and attempted to kick him. His pede hit Wingshield's chest, but he could just as well have been kicking a wall – the Insecticon only gave a low chirrup before grabbing his foot and moving it, placing it on the side of his hips so he would be positioned between Knockout's legs. Pulling the medic to the edge of the berth, one primary servo grabbed his hips to keep them in place, while the second supported his weight as Wingshield once more leaned over him, producing a warble sounding close to purring.

“Wingshield, get off of me this instant! We're _not_ doing any sort of claiming! We... we don't know each other!” It was a rather hapless excuse, but Knockout had by now understood that apparently, just saying no wasn't enough for the Insecticon. He needed a reason, and ' _I don't want this'_ wasn't good enough. Pausing, Wingshield pressed the front of his helm against Knockout's own, the posture strangely intimate as he nuzzled him. For a few moments, his mandibles moved along Knockout's smooth faceplate in a searching gesture the medic recognized from earlier. It seemed he was instinctively seeking a matching pair to lock with, something Knockout assumed Insecticons did between each other. Again, that only served to strengthen the differences between their frames, making Knockout more nervous.

“This will be a good way...? Rrrelax, enjoy. I'm a quick learnerrr.” As if to prove his words – quite possibly, that was exactly what he was doing – Wingshield once more hooked a mandible in the seatbelts on Knockout's neck, tugging gently. Then he opened his jaws, glossa snaking out and tracing the lines and cables along the white arch of Knockout's throat, the appendage stilling slightly just above the main energon lines. _Was he tasting him, or feeling the energon running beneath the surface...?_ Knockout didn't know, but it unsettled him none the less, the gesture animalistic and foreign. Then the glossa graced the thin seam where the seatbelts emerged from Knockout's plating, and he couldn't keep from sucking air in through his vents.

Immediately, Wingshield rumbled, the same deep and oddly singing sound of affection as he repeated the gesture, and Knockout was annoyed with himself when his following ex-vent was somewhat shaky. It was because this situation was fragged up and unwanted! He had to admit that it was a sensitive spot, but that didn't mean he was enjoying it. He was just wary about having those mandibles and pointed denta close, that was all.

And speaking of denta... Another small sound leaving him, this time a gasp of surprise, Knockout squirmed and turned his head away when Wingshield very carefully nibbled along his throat. That was _not_ a place he wanted those denta close to! He was convinced a single bite could kill him, messily tearing out the inner lines and tubing of his throat – Knockout had seen the bite wounds from Insecticons, and while they were rare, they were also deadly.

Stilling completely, Knockout drew his field in tighter around himself, optics widening a bit. He wasn't comfortable with any of this, but those denta directly over his major energon lines decidedly panicked him. Seeming to sense this, Wingshield pulled a bit away, trying another approach and nuzzling their helms together while slowly sliding his secondary servos along Knockout's frame in smooth and calming motions. The larger servo still on his hip slowly began rubbing soothing circles, Wingshield chirring and softly cooing in a way that was obviously meant to be pacifying. For a moment, Knockout was almost insulted that the Insecticon thought mere petting would help, until he realized that actually, it did.

He _was_ more comfortable with these signs of affection, and it helped a great deal not to have those powerful jaws close to his neck anymore. Normally, Knockout prized himself as one flirting with danger and excitement, but this... This was a bit too much. Wingshield was just so different! Slag, until he opened his intake, Knockout had considered him incapable of speech, nothing more but a beast-like drone.

Even though he wasn't, their mindsets were obviously different, and Knockout couldn't help but think Wingshield more primitive than him. The Insecticon's mind was obviously more simple, judging from the way he had brushed off all of Knockout's protests and attempts at reasoning. _Stubborn_.

“Relax parrrtner. I won't harrrm you. I... Want this to starrrt good. Cooperate? Let's make it a good partnerrrship?” Voice low, rumbling in the chest pressed against Knockout's own, Wingshield patiently continued petting and stroking the smaller medic, obviously trying to coax him into relaxing his tensed frame. _But cooperating?_

No way. Knockout got the point Wingshield was trying to make – the medic wasn't making things easy for the Insecticon. Partners needed to trust each other, and the way Knockout tensed each time he was touched was the exact opposite of trust. Honestly, it was probably rather insulting to the Insecticon. But how the slag was he expected to react when Wingshield didn't stop when told to?!

“If you want it to start off properly, listen to me when I tell you no!” Snapping the words, Knockout attempted to squirm, which got him absolutely nowhere. He wasn't even sure he had gotten his point across to the large Insecticon, Wingshield merely chirping before going back to petting him to coax him to relax. _Ugh_. Stupid drone.

“Listen, you don't have any lip components, your denta can harm me! I know your kind have thick plating, but I don't, and one bite will kill me! Not to mention the possible _scratches!_ ” Briefly, Wingshield's field betrayed confusion, then relief as he hummed deeply, leaning down so his primary mandibles could caress Knockouts faceplate.

“No biting, then. Prrromise. I'll be very carrreful.” His voice oddly gentle, Wingshield nudged Knockout's helm with his own, chirring softly in the back of his throat. Knockout felt like groaning and slapping him. He was so simpleminded! Thinking such small solutions would make everything alright... Then Wingshield did something Knockout hadn't been expecting.

Laving a single lick along the medic's lower lip component, Wingshield pulled a little away, optical band glowing as it looked him over. Very carefully, he traced his secondary servos along Knockout's chest, following his headlights before moving to the vents in his abdomen. It almost seemed like he was marveling at them, admiring every part of Knockout's frame while obviously taking great care to be cautious and not hurt him.

“You're so prrretty... But your frrrame is new to me. Tell me? How do I do this... forrr you?” Blinking in surprise, Knockout froze up, several kliks passing by with him just staring at Wingshield in astonishment. He was asking Knockout how to... what, how to make it good for the medic? How to make him enjoy himself?

… He really meant that he wanted this to be right, didn't he?

Blinking, Knockout surprised both of them when he began chuckling, the sound low and soft. He couldn't even remember last time he had laughed – it had been before Breakdown was killed, before he lost his dear friend and partner. But now, he couldn't help it, mouth pulling into a smile as he sighed and let his helm fall back against the berth, frame relaxing.

“Primus, you're stubborn... You won't listen to me when I say no, but _will_ listen to me if I tell you yes?” There wasn't any venom in his voice, just a resigned tone, and beneath that, a hint of warmth. He couldn't help it, there was something almost endearing about Wingshield. And... Knockout supposed he wasn't necessarily _bad_ looking. Just _different_ looking. He had felt a thrill when they kissed, had been able to enjoy it when he had given in. Maybe this would be okay? Not like he had any choice: either he could say no and get no pleasure, or he could attempt to make it at least bearable.

Slowly, with a thoughtful expression, Knockout moved his servos a bit. So far, they had been pressed against Wingshield's chest in a useless attempt at pushing the other away, at putting some distance between them. Now, he stopped fighting, instead just resting them against the other's chassis. It was warmer than his own, Knockout realized – either Wingshield was more excited about things than Knockout had thought, or his base temperature was merely above the medic's own. Knockout suspected it was the latter, and the realization felt oddly reassuring. Yes, it was different, but... at least he was able to understand it. Right?

“You better be careful with me. I mean it. I don't want any wounds or deep scratches. And no biting! Nibbling can be accepted if you're _very_ cautious, but you better not draw any energon. And no sticking anything into my vents, keep your servos from those.” Voice determined, he gave a soft sigh, then moved a bit – no longer squirming to get free, but instead arching his back a bit to show off his frame.

“Follow the seams in my armor. Especially the transformation seams are sensitive. I'm not some drone who has lost a fight, so you better be gentle about this.” Knockout didn't even know if Wingshield had ever had a partner he hadn't forced himself on, and he was rather nervous to be the test subject. It was pretty obvious what the Insecticon was used to, judging from how he didn't care about protests, and how at least one servo was always securing Knockout in place and making flight impossible. It was unnerving to know he had a serial rapist pinning him down, but at least Wingshield had asked for directions. It seemed obvious that he didn't want this to be against Knockout's will, that he wanted it to be a mutual thing.

With that in mind, Knockout very slowly slid his servos up, hooking them around Wingshield's neck in the best version of an embrace he could offer given their current position. The Insecticon once more produced the soft singing sound, the noise fading into a warble as he leaned down to nuzzle their helms together. Knockout's pride wouldn't let him return to gesture, and instead, he tilted his head to the side, placing a kiss against the nearest mandible. That was still weird to him, the appendages moving in unfamiliar ways whenever Wingshield chittered or used them to pet his face.

Knockout wasn't entirely sure he approved of that – it made him feel like a sparkling having it's cheek stroked. But he supposed it was different for Insecticons? Whenever he had attempted his version of a kiss, Wingshield's mandibles had automatically searched for a similar pair to hook with, after all. Perhaps using them in this way was an intimate gesture for them?

Seemingly confirming his theory, Wingshield gave a deep and very pleased rumble at the kiss, the tremors from his chest gently rattling Knockout's own chassis. Touches soft, the Insecticon moved his secondary servos over Knockout's plating, seeking out the seams like he had been told, and Knockout slowly let his optics slide closed, focusing on nothing but the touches.

Wingshield had been right – he _was_ a fast learner. The first time he got a slightly louder exhale from Knockout by dipping his claws into a specific seam at his side, his field practically glowed with confidence, and he repeated the movement. A small shiver traveled through Knockout's frame, his components slowly beginning to heat up, and he pressed against the servo. Making a small sound of protest when said servo was withdrawn, Knockout opened his optics, looking confused when Wingshield moved. Then that surprisingly strong glossa was lapping at the same spot, and Knockout gasped, the sound quickly melting into a crisp moan.

“ _Ah~!_ Primus, Wingshield, that's... Do that again~” Arching his back, Knockout used the servos around Wingshield's neck to tug him closer, giving a whine when the Insecticon only slowly licked along his chassis. Knockout's field was slowly coming undone; where it earlier had been drawn tight around him, it now fluctuated, betraying the building pleasure from Wingshield's touches, making him know when he did something particularly good. And that glossa felt _very_ good.

One primary servo was still supporting the bulk of Wingshield's weight while the other was grabbing Knockout's hips in an unconscious effort to keep him from escaping, but now, he slowly traced the edges and seams he could reach with it, one of his secondary servos slowly sliding lower along Knockout's abdomen. The medic gasped when it finally reached his cover, the touch tentative, Wingshield obviously minding Knockout's previous reluctance and his warning about being careful. With a small and pleased sigh, Knockout moved, wrapping both legs properly around Wingshield and pressing his heated array against his touch.

“Don't stop...” Whispering the encouragement and interrupting himself with a moan when Wingshield took it, Knockout tightened his arms around the other. This was better than he had thought it would be. Wingshield had three servos on his chassis, moving and caressing his frame with a precision revealing just how much he was paying attention to what got the most positive reactions. Honestly, it was impossible _not_ to be flattered – Wingshield was completely focused on nothing but how to please Knockout.

He had moved his intake to Knockout's chest, glossa running along his headlights, and the movements from his mandibles that at first had seemed so alien now just added extra points of contact between them. Wingshield was surprisingly talented with them, especially the secondary pair, seeming to rely on a mixture of instincts and Knockout's earlier instructions to caress him.

Slowly reciprocating, Knockout blinked a few times, optics dim as he gazed up at Wingshield. He might be selfish, but he was also proud, and he had a reputation of being an excellent lover. He wasn't about to only take pleasure from this without at least attempting to figure Wingshield's frame out and learn where to touch. Sure, he could ask, the same way the Insecticon had asked _him_ , but Knockout considered that beneath him.

Instead, he carefully traced the tips of his pointed digits along Wingshield's neck, directly above where he estimated that his spinal strut _should_ be. Even that small action got a strong reaction from Wingshield, his frame giving what seemed more like a brief vibration than a shiver while he produced a low warble. Knockout wasn't sure if it was because he had found a sweet spot, or because Wingshield was simply glad he participated.

The servo pressing against his array got more insistent, and Knockout was about to make a comment about impatience. Though, he supposed it made sense that Wingshield wouldn't be used to foreplay if he normally took his partners without their permission. Most likely, it was nothing more than a quick rut, their frames heated from the fight and not from pleasure, and the dominant part being the only one who overloaded. That fact still made him a bit nervous, and he swallowed whatever he had been about to say, tightening his arms around the other's neck.

This wouldn't be that way, he reminded himself. Wingshield had asked how to make Knockout enjoy himself, he clearly wanted this to be good for the medic, and he was being careful. So far, at least.

Though, the servo pawing at his codpiece was quickly becoming more insisting, and a small part of Knockout couldn't help but worry. To Wingshield, the time they had spent talking, where Knockout had tried getting out of this, had probably seemed like unnecessary foreplay before they could get to what he had called the 'claiming'. And that phrasing just had Knockout shivering again, both in nervousness and an anticipation he wasn't quite sure if he should feel embarrassed about.

Vents hitching when a large claw caught in a seam along his cover, Knockout tensed, his frame briefly arching before he gave a sound that was a mixture of a moan and a hiss. Like Wingshield's dentae, his claws were large, intimidating, and dangerous. The medic wasn't sure he wanted those near his valve. Squirming a bit, he bit his lip, then tugged at Wingshield's neck to get his attention.

“Ah, Wingshield, y-your claws...” Resetting his optics, he focused on the secondary servo not hidden between his legs, Wingshield using the other to gently trace Knockout's headlights where he could easily see it. He squinted at it. Had he forgotten how large those claws really were, or did they just seem bigger to him because Wingshield's other servo was pressing against his array, begging for him to open up? No matter what, Knockout wasn't about to have those anywhere near his sensitive components, thank you very much.

“They're huge, and _not_ going near my valve.” His protest had Wingshield pull back a little, the movement forcing Knockout to arch, seeing as his arms were still locked around the Insecticon's neck. It didn't even occur to the medic to just let go – instead, he followed Wingshield, trying to make his gaze determined despite how loudly his vents were purring.

“Parrrtner needs preparrration... Else it will hurrrt. I promised to take carrre of partnerrr.” Voice uncomprehending, Wingshield tilted his helm to one side, his mandibles moving in indecisiveness. More than anything, Knockout actually felt reassured by his response, and rewarded him with a smile. It was a relief to know that Wingshield was a mech of his word, even when faced with what he desired – he still held Knockout's comfort over his own pleasure. Optical band dimming, he chirred to himself while obviously thinking this over, his claws unconsciously flexing as if he had only just become aware of them. Then he perked up, pride practically rolling off of him in waves as his field pressed inquisitively against Knockout's own.

“I can use glossa...?” The suggestion immediately got a rev from Knockout's engine, and Wingshield did his own version of a victorious grin in response. Though, even as he moved to reposition himself between the medic's legs, the servos around his neck pulled again. And again, he immediately payed attention to Knockout, pausing and looking expectant.

It was flattering, really, how he was willing to listen to each and every tip Knockout gave him. True, he hadn't taken no for an answer, and he seemed to misunderstand a lot of Knockout's protests, his mind translating them into simpler problems and then coming up with an equally simple solution. But right now, Knockout held his undivided attention, and that fueled his ego. But despite how admiring he acted, Knockout shook his helm.

“I doubt that'll be enough.” He protested, and Wingshield gave what he assumed was a frown. Still, the Insecticon seemed to realize that Knockout was right, and that his glossa wouldn't be enough to prepare his partner. However, instead of seeming mournful or dejected, he merely gave a thoughtful chirrup, moving his helm and obviously taking Knockout in, mandibles moving to taste the air. The medic didn't give him time to say anything, though – he didn't really want to know what decision Wingshield might reach when he had previously made it clear he was used to taking his partners by force. Knockout doubted something like this would stop him, and that he more likely than not would use his claws despite his partner's protests. Knockout didn't want to give him time to reach that decision and act upon it.

“I can do it myself, but you have to promise me to be patient. _Promise_.” And, to give him a bit more enticement, Knockout smirked. “ _I_ promise it'll be worth your while.” Because he _really_ didn't want Wingshield to decide when he'd had enough of waiting and to just take him.

It didn't seem like he had to worry, though. Wingshield's optical band immediately lit up a bit, and he gave the same musical chirrups as earlier, leaning back fully and removing the primary arm he had been supporting himself with as he no longer needed it. Instead, he placed that on one of Knockout's thighs, pulling him even closer to the edge of the berth as he himself straightened his back where he was standing on the floor. The secondary servos found their ways to Knockout's legs, as well, tracing them gently as Wingshield chittered. Then, it seemed he settled in to watch.

“I prrromise.” He confirmed, voice oddly soft despite it's rasping quality. He was rewarded with a smile before Knockout put his own servos to work. _This_ was one thing Knockout was confident in; he was more than certain he could put on a show. Bending his legs enough to allow himself to rest his pedes on the edge of the berth, he retracted his cover, exposing his array and the two secondary panels covering his valve and spike, respectively.

Letting one hand sensually trace his own chest, dipping his digits into well known sweet spots along his vents and seams, Knockout slid the other lower, caressing his own array. Sending Wingshield a teasing look, he bit down on his lower lip, squirming and arching off the berth to show off his frame while tracing the panel covering his valve. The simple action was enough to earn him a deep rumble from Wingshield, his optical band trained on Knockout and pulsating in warm hues, but the large Insecticon was staying put. For now.

Knockout decided not to tempt fate and slowly slid his panel back, baring his valve as a small trickle of lubricant escaped the outer lips, lazily running down the curve of his aft. The sound from Wingshield turned into a deeper noise, a mixture between a hungry keen and a growl. Knockout briefly focused on him to see his mandibles moving, scenting the air and sampling the smell of the medic, and frag it if that wasn't oddly arousing. Giving a soft sigh, Knockout let his helm fall back, optics closing as he traced his digits around his valve, rubbing over the outer folds before bringing them up to circle his external node.

With a low moan, Knockout slid a single digit into himself, using the others to spread the lips of his valve and presenting Wingshield with as good a view as possible. Normally, Knockout enjoyed dragging out the foreplay, and in situations like these he could have used breems just teasing touches along his outer node without even penetrating his own valve. But he didn't want to take too long, lest Wingshield lost his patience despite his promise not to. Already, he could feel the heat rolling off of the Insecticon's frame, could hear the buzzing of his vents as he gave a low and raspy purr. His field was bearing heavily down on Knockout's own, filled with lust and a beastly need to _claim_ which made the medic shiver in a nervous anticipation.

It was an exciting feeling, the intensity of it surprising, flattering, and incredibly arousing. Wingshield wanted him, and he no longer made any attempts at repressing that – on the contrary, his desire seemed to grow by the klik, tangible in his field and the warmth from his plating. It was thrilling, but it also had Knockout remembering not to take as long as he would have liked. He didn't mind the sense of danger, and he didn't let it rush him – he just worked faster than he normally would, the excitement of the situation more than enough to have him enjoying himself immensely.

“Ah~!” Adding another digit straight away, Knockout wasted no time curling them, spreading them a bit as he did. As a medic, he knew how a Cybertronian frame worked, and he was incredibly familiar with his own, including just where to touch now. Easily seeking out clusters of sensory nodes, he pressed his digits against them, feeling the calipers of his valve flutter before giving and stretching. Knockout might be experienced, but he made a point out of remaining tight, and his model had narrow hips to begin with. He was used to the stretching by now.

A gust of hot air blew over him, and Knockout cracked open an optic to gaze along the length of his body to Wingshield. The Insecticon had leaned in closer while the medic wasn't looking, mandibles moving in small jerks as he chittered. The look in his optical band could only be described as hungry, the faint light now a deep burgundy as it pulsed along with the growl of his vents as they worked hard. The primary servos on Knockout's hip and thigh were trembling ever so slightly, the claws flexing a bit in a way that almost reminded Knockout of how Seekers kneaded things when they were content. The secondary pair were currently on Knockout's shins, almost absentmindedly tracing patterns along the plating.

Knowing that just looking at him was enough to put Wingshield in such a rapt state of attention was empowering, sending a wave of pleasure along his backstrut like electricity. Carefully, he slid a third digit into his valve, hissing and forcing himself to relax as the initial burn slowly faded. He chased away the last of the discomfort by moving his servo, letting the heel of his palm press against his exterior node and rub over it each time his hand moved. Slowly, he pushed deeper, lubricant being forced out past his fingers as he stuffed his own valve. The wet sounds were downright obscene, the purr from his cooling vents not nearly loud enough to drown them out completely.

“Wingshield...” Whispering the other's designation, Knockout spread his digits, the calipers of his valve resetting and slowly relaxing. Pleasure replaced the initial stretch, and he moaned, arching his back a bit and pressing the tips of his digits firmly against his own inner walls. The rattling of plating told him that Wingshield was moving, and the hungry growl he gave that he had very much appreciated hearing Knockout utter his name in that tone of voice. The field pressing against Knockout's was turning impatient, lust overpowering anything else that might have been felt.

He wasn't going to be content just watching for much longer. Feeling a thrill of excitement, Knockout grinned, the expression melting into a mask of pure pleasure as he forced his last digit into his already full valve. Intake falling open in a gasp, he vented shallowly, giving a keening sound and trying to adjust even as he began moving his digits again, curling and spreading them. It was too much being added too fast, and it felt nearly overwhelming, but he still didn't stop, enjoying it as small sparks began dancing along his plating while his charge built. He could feel lubricant escaping his valve, sliding between his digits and down his aft to pool under him, the sweet scent of it faintly reaching him. He could only imagine what it would be like for Wingshield, who seemed able to smell the very air. And, speaking of Wingshield...

“Okay, I... I'm ready.” To be fair, he could have used more time, but by now, he could comfortably fit four digits inside of his valve, and although it was tight, it didn't decidedly _hurt_. And he didn't really want to push his luck and see how long it would take before Wingshield gave in to his obvious urges and just took him.

He'd been right to do so. As soon as he said it, Wingshield fell upon him, moving in quickly to close the distance between them. He kept his primary servos on Knockout's hips, locking them in place as if he expected the medic to attempt to flee. On some unconscious level, he probably was, being used to unwilling partners. His secondary arms went to the medic's chassis, lightly skittering across it as if he was trying to get a proper feel of him and determine his mood.

“Rrready?” His voice was even more guttural than it had been earlier, sounding more like a beastly snarl than actual words. Still, he held himself back, only pressing his heated codpiece against Knockout's exposed array. Knockout moaned, squirming and attempting to build some friction between them as he nodded. Yes, he was ready, yes he was sure, just yes. _Please_. His charge was so high, he needed more, and Wingshield had promised to deliver.

Wingshield had forced his legs wide apart to make room for his own broad hips, and he could feel the joints protest slightly from the stress, the tiny burn feeling absolutely sinful. Hooking one leg around Wingshield, he braced the other back against the edge of the berth, moving his servos to grasp at the plush thermal blanket acting as a sheet. _That_ was probably going to be ruined after this... Knockout didn't care at all. What he did care about were the electrical sparks of pleasure being illuminated every time Wingshield ground down against his valve, how they seemed to travel along his backstrut and spread to the rest of his frame, and how wonderful it all felt.

“I told you, didn't I? Yes, I'm ready, get on with it! I- _ah!_ Please, move, _do something!_ ” Knockout had feared Wingshield wouldn't be patient, but in the end, he was the one begging for more. Why had he been so opposed to this before...?

A series of clicks reminded him. Normally, it would have been the soft slide as the cover and panel slid back, then an unnoticeable hiss as the spike pressurized. This sounded nothing like that. Instead, it almost sounded like... like something was unfolding? Pushing himself up on his elbow, Knockout looked down, then felt a sharp pang of doubt and beginning fear.

“Are those... barbs...?” He had been expecting a large spike, simply because of Wingshield's bulky frame, but he was still taken by surprise. The Insecticon was beyond well endowed, his odd spike looking huge and heavy. The head was pointed into something looking more like a weapon than a phallus, curving upwards at a punishing angle. The entire length was covered with two rows of penile spines, one on each side, while the underside was lined with smaller barbs, not unlike those displayed certain places along the Insecticon's outer armor. And at the base, thick wires coiled into a knot, red biolights slowly pulsating.

It was large, it was unfamiliar and beastly, and Knockout was _not_ prepared to take that.

“W-Wingshield, I think tha- _ah!_ ” Crying out and interrupting himself, Knockout tensed when Wingshield rolled his hips, pressing the head of his spike against the puffed outer lips of Knockout's valve. The medic's words were met with a low snarl, his mandibles moving as the servos around Knockout's hips tightened their hold, making pulling away impossible. With a sinking feeling to his spark, Knockout realized the Insecticon was past listening, and that now, he was running on instinct. If Knockout protested, he'd be seen as a defeated partner., and the whole thing might turn violent. The best he could do was to attempt his best to relax, and to hope it would be over quickly.

That was easier said than done as Wingshield warbled, moving his hips a few times to ensure his spike was positioned correctly before mercilessly pushing closer. He didn't do it slowly or gradually, instead forcing Knockout to take everything as he steadily penetrated him, giving him no pauses to adjust before their hips met. Throwing his helm back, Knockout cried out, servos curling into tight fists in the blanket while he tried forcing himself to relax. It hurt, the stretch incredible, burning and sending waves of fire through his circuits. He couldn't help but attempt to squirm, to lessen the pain, but the servos on his hips kept him firmly in place, making even easing the stretch impossible.

“Stop, you're going too fast, I-I need time to adjust, it hurts!” Protesting in a frantic tone, Knockout panted, his vents working on their highest setting to cool down his frame. Wingshield didn't seem to hear him, instead giving a low growl and pulling out before harshly slamming back in, their hips meeting with a loud clang. This time Knockout screamed, frame bowing the best it could. It hurt, it was too big, and the calipers in his valve strained to take it all without the mesh tearing. The spines were dragging along his inner walls, catching at ridges he hadn't even known were there or were _that_ sensitive.

A secondary servo found it's way to his chest, bearing down with enough force to completely keep him from moving as Wingshield leaned over him, effectively trapping him beneath his own bulk, their chests pressed close together. The new position kept Knockout completely immobile and forced him to just bear this, his legs spreading even wider, straining his hip joints. Crying out softly, the leg Knockout had used to brace himself with on the edge of the berth slipped, and he kicked uselessly in the air before being forced to wrap it around Wingshield as well, attempting to anchor himself down. A few tears of washer fluid gathered at the corners of his optics before rolling down his cheeks, his engine giving a low mechanical hiccup as he tried writhing.

“S-stop, Wingshield, I need to- _ooh!_ Oh Primus...” Wingshield wasn't listening, instead setting a brutal and fast pace, forcing their hips together at a punishing speed. The spines and barbs along his length scratched ruthlessly over the sensory clusters in Knockout's valve, the odd sharp edge to the head of his spike allowing him to hit his ceiling nodes in each thrust and to painfully drag across them when he pulled back out. It was too much, too fast, and Knockout whimpered as the intense burn slowly melted into molten pleasure.

Next time he cried out, it was for more, the plea broken and laced with static. It still hurt, but beneath that was a building ecstasy, a sharp wave of liquid fire through his circuits each time Wingshield buried himself deep into him. Trying to ignore the intense discomfort, Knockout brought his arms up to cling to the large Insecticon, feeling like he was drowning. Wingshield's frame was incredibly hot to the touch, the scent of ozone filling the air and mingling with the smell of Knockout's lubricants as those were forced from his valve with each hard rut. The heat was stifling, and Knockout felt trapped, too many sensations overwhelming him – the pain, the pleasure, the heat, and above all that, the heavy weight above him and inside of him.

Screaming as an unexpected overload hit him and swept him away, Knockout tried to arch and squirm, only to find that he couldn't. Pleasure lit up every nerve circuit in his frame and made them sing as burning ecstasy washed through him, making his optics and voicebox briefly short out. Static fell from his intake as he shook, valve clenching down around Wingshield's spike, his inner walls rippling to drag out his overload as long as possible and pull his partner over with him.

Wingshield snarled, upping his pace as his thrusts became erratic and even harder. Then, giving the typical warbling cry of his kin, he sheathed himself completely, mandibles locking around Knockout's throat to keep him from moving. The spines along his spike flared while the knot swelled, tying them together through Wingshield's overload. Thick ropes of burning transfluid spurted into Knockout, and he moaned, fruitlessly trying to squirm. It was too hot, filling his already stuffed valve and making him whimper in complaint. He swore, he could feel his middle distend a little...

Only a few drops made it past his stretched outer valve lips to roll down his aft and thighs, Wingshield's spike effectively trapping it all inside of him as the Insecticon gave the triumphant roar of his subspecies. Then he shook, the secondary servo on Knockout's chest slowly moving to the berth to help support his weight. Even that small movement was enough to jostle the spike still sheathed in Knockout, and the medic keened. As the pleasure was fading along with his afterglow, the large spike was just hurting him now, his entire frame feeling sore and his valve abused.

“Parrrtner okay?” Giving a soft cooing sound that slowly turned into the odd singing chirr Knockout was familiar with from earlier, Wingshield released his throat, mandibles moving from where they had locked around his neck to instead pet the seatbelts in a placating gesture, then stroke along his faceplate. Their movements seemed almost anxious, Wingshield producing a variety of soft clicks and chirps as he slowly lifted his weight, allowing Knockout a little maneuverability.

“You... could have taken things slower.” Not that it hadn't all turned out pleasant in the end, but Knockout doubted he'd be able to walk properly for joors. He was too tired to really complain, though. Right now, he felt warm, satisfied, and very full, the last having to do with the fact that Wingshield's spike was still tying them together, and Knockout could feel his transfluid coating the inside of his valve. The sensations sent a laze wave of renewed pleasure through him, but he groaned and refused to acknowledge it. He couldn't take another of _these_ sessions without being knocked offline. Already, various warnings were flashing across his HUD, the most important one that his fuel was getting low. Above him, Wingshield chittered, tilting his helm as his optical band dimmed in confusion.

“You said you werrre ready?” He sounded questioning, as if he didn't understand. Knockout had given him consent, had said he was ready, but then he had protested once Wingshield had taken him, and now he said it went too fast? Knockout shot him a pointed look, trying to summon the strength to be his usual snarky self. It didn't come. Instead, he just made a small and tired gesture, rolling his optics.

“Yes, well, I didn't know you were this... this huge! I had no idea what to expect, but it certainly wasn't that... that monstrous thing you still have jammed inside of me! It's a wonder it even fit, it's enormous!” He ended up sounding more sullen than anything, and Wingshield just looked proud, cooing and nuzzling the side of his face affectionately.

“I am one of the strrrongest in Hive, I am big. I will be verrry good mate to you.” Knockout didn't have the energy to even begin commenting on that. Once more, it seemed Wingshield had completely misunderstood his words and turned it into something way more simple. Now, he looked immensely pleased that he had managed to impress his partner by being so well endowed. Knockout really didn't have the spark to correct him, and besides, it wasn't _all_ wrong – Knockout _had_ been impressed, still was. Impressed, and slightly terrified.

Making an unhappy noise of protest when Wingshield moved, he squirmed a bit, then let his legs fall from where they had been wrapped around the Insecticon. That felt entirely unpleasant, the spike inside of him jarring and scraping overstimulated sensory clusters and sore nodes. Slowly, the knot inflated, and Knockout made a face when he felt the first beads of transfluid escape his stuffed valve and stain his plating. Wingshield didn't seem to notice, instead nudging their helms together before licking along Knockout's upper lip component in an odd version of a loving peck.

“Hold still... This won't hurrrt much.” The servos still on his hips tightened their hold as Wingshield pulled out, and Knockout briefly thrashed, giving a surprised scream. That had been painful, the hard spines dragging along the swollen and overly sensitive walls of his valve, tearing harshly at the soft mesh. Every part of his valve felt abused and tortured, the spines, barbs, and sharply edged head leaving of Wingshield's spike leaving no caliper untouched. Attempting to arch, he grit his denta and threw his helmet back, servos curling up in the thermal blanket.

Then the spike slipped from his outer lips, and a stream of transfluid mixed with his own lubricants followed, staining his aft and adding to the pool beneath him. Giving a small whimper, the medic forced himself to vent deeply, frame relaxing and falling limply back on the berth. Pit knew what he looked like right now... His array and inner thighs were stained by his own lubricants and Wingshield's transfluids, his armor was scratched from the Insecticon's rutting, and he still had faint traces of the tears having been forced from him coloring his pristine faceplate. Knockout couldn't even begin to be bothered by that. He was too exhausted.

He didn't even notice when the primary servos left his hips, only realizing that he had been freed when they came back to scoop him up and reposition him to the other side of the berth where the thermal blanket was clean. Purring contently, Wingshield clambered up next to him, primary arms wrapping protectively around him while his secondary pair lightly petted along Knockout's armor.

“So prrretty... I will be good mate to you. Prrromise. I am verrry lucky.” Repeating his earlier praise, the Insecticon nuzzled Knockout, holding him close. The medic felt that he should say something, point out that one interface didn't make them _mates_ , but he was too tired to protest. Instead, he yawned, curled up so his back was pressed against Wingshield's strong chest, and powered down. The feeling of the deep vibrations from Wingshield's heavy purring instantly rocked him to sleep, the low sound following him into recharge.

 

 


End file.
